you'll never leave Harlan alive...
Well, this is not looking good.
Raylan lies on his back and tries not to breathe. He can hear the guy moving outside the window and, yeah, he was a pretty decent sniper but, shit, he's making a lot of noise. Raylan tries to imagine Tim making that much noise. He shifts his grip on his gun and listens, lets himself become something made of stone. You learn how to wait. The guy opens the window and Raylan moves smoothly, puts two bullets in him and listens to him fall down in the dry leaves. No time to stop; Raylan's on his feet and moving, staying low, staying out of sight of the windows.
It's still not looking good but another one down? That's hopeful.
He skids to the ground and there's this split second where he's just looking at Boyd and Ava and realising that they're his responsibility right now, more than anybody else in the world, they're his. And maybe all three of them aren't going to walk out of this, but he's the only one who's dying here today.
"I got your man out back!" he calls. "That leaves three of us and only two of you!" He wishes that he felt like it was better odds. "You start walking. We'll hold our fire."
Hell, it's worth a shot, right?
There's this moment of pure silence, no sound but the three of them breathing and the sound of the birds in the trees, and then automatic gun-fire rings out and Raylan gets his head down, arms up, and it seems to go on forever, and, irritationally, he thinks of what Arlo said about his father, Raylan's grandfather, the one he barely remembers; his God was the Lord of war and thunder. For a long time in that little cabin, war and thunder rings out and Raylan just keeps his head down and prayers to the man with the long beard and the heavenly throne.
Everything goes quiet, and he lifts his head, you alright on his lips, but it don't get said. Because he isn't in the cabin anymore and Boyd and Ava? Nowhere to be seen.
He's in a kitchen, brightly lit, nicely furnished. It's a kitchen he's never seen before and his gun is still in his hand. Which ought to make him feel better, but doesn't.
Raylan crawls from under the table and stands, scattering glass and sawdust from his shoulders and his hair.
"What the..?"
ooc: one Deputy Marshal who, for once, will not be shooting anyone today.
Raylan lies on his back and tries not to breathe. He can hear the guy moving outside the window and, yeah, he was a pretty decent sniper but, shit, he's making a lot of noise. Raylan tries to imagine Tim making that much noise. He shifts his grip on his gun and listens, lets himself become something made of stone. You learn how to wait. The guy opens the window and Raylan moves smoothly, puts two bullets in him and listens to him fall down in the dry leaves. No time to stop; Raylan's on his feet and moving, staying low, staying out of sight of the windows.
It's still not looking good but another one down? That's hopeful.
He skids to the ground and there's this split second where he's just looking at Boyd and Ava and realising that they're his responsibility right now, more than anybody else in the world, they're his. And maybe all three of them aren't going to walk out of this, but he's the only one who's dying here today.
"I got your man out back!" he calls. "That leaves three of us and only two of you!" He wishes that he felt like it was better odds. "You start walking. We'll hold our fire."
Hell, it's worth a shot, right?
There's this moment of pure silence, no sound but the three of them breathing and the sound of the birds in the trees, and then automatic gun-fire rings out and Raylan gets his head down, arms up, and it seems to go on forever, and, irritationally, he thinks of what Arlo said about his father, Raylan's grandfather, the one he barely remembers; his God was the Lord of war and thunder. For a long time in that little cabin, war and thunder rings out and Raylan just keeps his head down and prayers to the man with the long beard and the heavenly throne.
Everything goes quiet, and he lifts his head, you alright on his lips, but it don't get said. Because he isn't in the cabin anymore and Boyd and Ava? Nowhere to be seen.
He's in a kitchen, brightly lit, nicely furnished. It's a kitchen he's never seen before and his gun is still in his hand. Which ought to make him feel better, but doesn't.
Raylan crawls from under the table and stands, scattering glass and sawdust from his shoulders and his hair.
"What the..?"
ooc: one Deputy Marshal who, for once, will not be shooting anyone today.